sunshine beams
by lydiamartins
Summary: meena can't exactly tell him the truth, that (yeah, um, see the awkward thing is that you don't have feelings for me, not anymore, and I still have feelings for you, and you probably know that), so she goes with a casual, I wouldn't miss it -— meenaderrick, massiederrick - for coppertone wars' monthly challenge!


**notes | **don't let the title mislead you, c: the coffeeshop!au scene happened to me once in seventh grade and i don't know why but i really like writing these sort of messed up characters idk - this is for coppertone wars' monthly challenge, with the prompt of "come on take a walk on the wild side; let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain; you like your girls insane" from _born to die _by lana del rey, and i incorporated the insane girl part i hope

**disclaimer **- i just take characters from the clique and make them angsty depressed psycho stalkers so yeah

**sunshine beams**  
meenaderrick

.

She's six years old when she first meets him -

It's one of those typical days of kindergarten, where the rest of the children are a sticky mess, and Meena sits on the outskirts - she doesn't quite belong, not yet at least; she's asked her mother why the other kids don't like her - her mother lies, saying that it's only going to get better, and that if the rest of the students in her school didn't like her, then it was their loss (but Meena always feels as though she's the one who's losing).

There's a small sandbox at the edge of the park - people stay away from there, little girls afraid to mess up their complicated hairstyles, and boys thinking that there are cooties in here; Meena sits there, sometimes, just thinking about nothing and everything. It's going to snow soon, in a few months, and then there'll be _april showers, may flowers _and everything will be easier - the school year of kindergarten will be over, she'll be able to move away from Westchester, New York, and she'll never have to see these classmates again.

Her older sister's going to college next year - early admittance into Harvard and all - and then it'll be goodbye Westchester, hello Cambridge (or at least, that's the promise that her mother's made her). She plays with the sand, watching it thread through her fingers, like everything else in the world; everybody always leaves her, she thinks to herself. She's had a friend before - her name was Heather, and the two of them wore matching outfits for the first month of the school year until Heather moved away to California, land of beaches and sunny weather, and she never saw her best friend again.

A boy sits down in the sandbox next to her, awkwardly - he has shaggy brown hair and golden eyes that pierce her, and Meena feels a fluttering in her chest. Her uncle died a few years ago from a heart attack. Maybe this was one of the symptoms. _I'm Meena, _she smiles a toothy, broad grin, which stretches across her face, _who exactly are you? Are you a new kid?_

_I'm Derrick, _he returns her smile. The two of them end up playing in the sandbox for the rest of the hour - he throws sand in her hair, and she pours a bucket of sand on his hair (he's the one who's more upset about the mess of their hair), and soon enough, they're friends. _Best friends? _He asks, linking his pinky with hers - it must a serious thing, to swear on one's pinky? She nods, and it's just that easy.

.

Derrick leaves her soon afterwards - how could he not?

It's not as though Meena could ever expect their friendship to last - it's only middle school, but it's raining outside, and she sees his face in the neighboring window; they still live in the same town - neighboring houses and all, and sometimes, in the light of the fresh morning, Meena can see Derrick's face in the morning, the first thing that she sets her eyes upon; sometimes, the windows are drawn, and other times he forgets. The two of them meet up occasionally, muttering words of greeting in the hallways when he's not surrounded by the other members of his soccer team - they grab coffee on a Tuesday morning; it goes along the lines of -

(She's a barista, now - it's one of those jobs that thirteen year olds can pull off, because they're just the right height or some stupid stuff like that; basically, her mom told her to get a job, or she couldn't continue binging on netflix, so it was an easy decision to make. _That'll be eight dollars, twenty cents, sir, _she smiles down at the six year old whose head barely stands above the counter; his mother rolls her eyes, passing over the money, and taking her son out of the store, perhaps for a stroll in the park - everybody else in the world just seems so perfect, she thinks.

An arm loops around, with a _hey, haven't seen you around in forever _sort of smile, and Meena screams so loud that the man paying his money drops his scalding hot mocha on his bare feet (summer sandals, and all) and angrily swears at the disturbance. _What are you doing here, Derrick? _Meena asks in an exasperated voice, though is secretly delighted to see him - after all, middle school changes things and hot soccer guys don't hang out with nerdy, clumsy geeks; not in this world, at least.

_Just wanted to catch up, _he shrugs his shoulders, nonchalant. _I thought that I'd buy you a drink, maybe? _

She laughs, _yes, Derrick, you can buy me a drink - after I make it myself, because I'm the only barista that's here at the moment; brilliant idea, by the way, but um, really, what are you doing here? _Her words are awkward and jumbled together in a mess; Meena's face is flushed red and it's not only due to her allergies, and she's pretty sure that this isn't a good thing, not anymore.

He smiles at her, and she feels like floating - Meena wonders if this is what it's like to have a crush, and resort to being a mainstream teenager, like the rest of them fools, and it's not so bad, not really, not at all. _Wanna grab a bite to eat? _Derrick offers, smiling. _There's this pizza place downtown - Slice of Heaven, 'parently; it's supposed to be good._

_Why not? _Meena replies, wondering if it's okay to smile at somebody so much - he pays for her meal, and drives her home (_on his bike, except when he pulls her arms around him, saying that it's fine - he's done this with his sister a few times, too_) and promises that he'll call her the next day, Meena feels as though she's floating into the air.)

And then, he never really calls back - Meena knows it was a mistake, of course it was, to trust somebody, anybody that much - and falls in love with a girl by the name of Massie Block with perfect brown ringlets that bounce when she strides down the hallways of Octavian Country Day, like a rightful queen, flanked by her ladies-in-waitings and princesses, and perfect outfits that probably cost more than Meena's baby grand piano, and fairytales _don't_ come true.

Westchester's a typical suburb - one of the richer ones, no doubt, of New York, with large, overwhelming oak trees that she used to think reached up to the sky; sometimes, she perches herself upon the one outside of her patio, resting on the fragile branches, and balancing on the edges of the twigs, just wondering how far she'll be able to push herself before there'll be the everlasting emptiness, in a very different sense of the word; a world without pain would be quite nice, she thinks to herself. The neighborhoods have white picket fences and St. Bernard dogs, sometimes the occasional high class celebrity who wanders through the town, meeting up with old friends, or that random new girl who'll never really fit in.

She's sitting an abandoned living room now, staring at the limp hair that falls from her head, passing against her bony ribs - _it's probably not attractive to look this skinny, _she thinks - and the light reflects off her recently shaved legs; like everything she does, it's a sloppy job, with nicks and cuts forming by her ankles, covered up by white Ralph Lauren socks that have stains near the bottom of them, from grass and from sweat-stained floors of the karate studio - she barely even remembers how her life has gotten this messed up.

There's the slightest bit of fat that dribbles from her chin, pushed backwards by the rubber bands from the orthodontist, the only thing that keep her from noticing how a double chin starts to form, and Meena doesn't want to think like that - she doesn't want to have to be like the rest of the girls in Octavian Country Day who obsess over their looks, and how there's the slightest bit of fat forming on their stomach, and how they'll have to go on the Zone or Circle Diet, where the food smells so horrible that it stops you from even eating it -

A new text message appears on her cell phone, a missed call from Derrick. _Hey, _she picks up the phone, rubbing her fingers together in the cold, trying to seem casual, _what's up, Derrick? _There's the slightest bit of breeze that falls through the window, and she curls herself beneath the blanket of solitude.

_Just thought I'd ask you a question - 'cause you're a girl and all, and you know how girls think. _Meena's not quite sure where this is going, but she's watched the movies and the television shows, and conversations like this never go well for the girl who's immediately 'friend-zoned' as people call it, these days. _What would be the best way to ask out a girl like Massie Block?_

_._

Meena thinks that she won't hate Derrick -

Even though secretly, there's nothing more that she hates than his too perfect brown hair that makes him look as adorable as a golden retriever, and the way that when he flashes her (but more likely, some other girl, someone with prettier hair and skinnier thighs that don't brush against one another) a beaming smile, Meena feels as though she's an angel - _devil in disguise, maybe. _She'll keep the secret to herself - that she's not in love with him, like all the other girls in her class, because if she ever admits to anybody, especially herself, that she hates him, it won't be like before she's completely, head over heels in love with Derrick Harrington.

And that'll never turn out well - she knows that much. Guys like _that _don't hang out with girls like _her, _not unless it's for some sort of homework help or maybe the occasional encounter to give themselves a kind, boy-next-door sort of reputation; maybe his friends had put him up to this, to befriend the least popular girl in school, or maybe his parents had thought that it would be nice if their son did some charity work. Yeah, she can totally see it, _'a geek outreach program' _that counts for volunteer hours with the guidance resource center. There's no other possible explanation.

(He'll forget about her soon enough, and with time, she'll forget about him too. Or not.)

She sits underneath her bed, holding a teddy bear and squeezing the life out of a small plush toy (a Webkinz, she supposes), whispering to it, _you won't leave me, will you? You won't forget about you? _and Meena knows that her last friend is imaginary, inanimate, and it's a little too much for her to take - she's a good girl, she's never done anything wrong, not really (unless she's supposed to count not practicing enough piano or eating an extra cookie), and good girls get happily ever after's, riding off with a prince charming sort of individual; then, Meena knows that fairytales aren't true.

Good girls are boring - all they get are competition for grades and crushes on cute guys who will never like them back, declaring them complete nerds or geeks - and good girls _always_ finish last.

.

High school starts soon after - the years that pass by feel more like days, drifting away into summertime sadness -

Her mother dies in the middle of eighth grade - it's something expected, really. She's walked into her mother's bedroom on occasion, and noticed her injecting several vials of different liquids into her elbow, sighing with relief; the telltale signs from weekly visits to the oncologist and the yellowing of her teeth, the graying of her hair (it used to be something out of 80's movie, poofy hairdo and all, and now all of the ringlets are gone, left between empty sheets); nevertheless, knowing that in advance doesn't make the pain any easier to handle.

Meena's father gently grasps her elbow, leading her to the funeral - everybody else is wearing black, and she thinks that the color is supposed to look respectful, but then she looks - really looks, not just a skim over like how the rest of her classmates skim over their lengthy history textbooks - at everybody, and realizes how fake they are. Maybe if they cared - but the thought is unlikely, that anybody could ever care about her; there are mascara-stained teardrops that run down their cheeks, and hollowed collarbones which stand out from painted white skin, and all Meena can think about how this isn't supposed to happen to her.

She didn't do anything wrong to deserve this, to have her mother taken away from her - it's somewhat selfish, really, to complain about how her mother's so selfish, when her mother probably didn't even have a choice in the matter, but somebody always has to be the blame for everything, and it's not exactly her fault, now is it? Meena sits in a couch, curled up into a ball and still hears the faint sounds of a shower in the room behind her, and twitches her toe in an uncomfortable pattern, dragging the feeble skin across the sharp tines of a fork, ignoring the scratches and the pieces of skin that start to chip off, like the useless nail polish that has long faded from her opaque fingernails.

Derrick's there sometimes - he slips out of the corner of her eye, but she finds him, she'll always find him; Meena stands at the edge of the cafeteria, and notices a group of people, known as the Pretty Committee and the Briarwood Soccer Team sitting together in the center table, laughing and holding hands. One of the nicer members of the group, by the name of Claire Lyons - the two of them used to be friends, back before popularity was more important than anything in the world - and flashes a fake smile at Meena. _Hey, Gina, how's it going?_

_Nothing much, _she feels bold, all of a sudden, _just wondering if I could talk to Derrick for a minute? _Meena regrets the words as soon as they fall out of her mouth, and notices the flash of malice that form in Claire's eyes, and wonder how long it had taken for Claire to be converted into another one of those plastic dolls who just do as Massie says. _If you don't mind, that is. _It's a challenging statement - she's known the girl from Florida long enough to know some of her weaker points.

Claire rolls her eyes in response, _yeah, why not, _and she finds herself waiting in the hallway, the one with the flickering lights, minutes later, in awkward conversation with an ex-friend. She looks at him across the hallway, her heart jack-hammering in her chest, and feels like Icarus drawn to the Sun. _So, _he casually brings up the topic, _you should come to my soccer game. The scouts from Cornell are going to be there, so it's pretty important._

_Why? _She tries to keep the surprise out of her voice, and fails miserably - the lights flicker from behind, ominous.

_Because we're friends . . . right? _(Meena tells herself to resist from putting her foot in her mouth, and saying, _friends don't ditch friends for more popular friends._)

_Why else would I want you at my soccer game? _Derrick frowns, confused, ever so oblivious. Meena thinks that when she was younger, she used to think that oblivious, little boys were cute, and now she just realizes how stupid and useless they'll always be, in the real world, that is. _Anyway, I was thinking that you and Claire could catch up - I notice that the two of you have . . . drifted._

Meena's glad that the hallway is somewhat deserted and that the lights are off, because her flushed face would have been a dead giveaway. The lights flicker once more, and she can see her glossed over reflection on the shiny hardwood floors of the school; she diverts her eyes, turning them towards the clock, because she knows that she can't tell him the truth, that (_yeah, um, see the awkward thing is that you don't have feelings for me, not anymore, and I still have feelings for you, and you probably know that_), so she goes with a casual, _I wouldn't miss it._

.

Soccer games are pretty useless, in her opinion -

It's a group of sweaty people, boys that band together (if her mother knew that she was here, instead of at a study group with other Indian appropriate girls who don't have any social lives, either, it wouldn't turn out well) to kick balls around, and make crude jokes afterwards - or maybe that's just her knowledge from watching too many television shows and movies - but it seems to be the truth, for the most part.  


Meena cheers occasionally when Derrick gets the ball - he slices through the field like a knife, soaring like a bird with effortlessly crafted wings - and at the end of the game, when Massie kisses him full on the lips, murmuring congratulations, Meena feels as though she wants to get rid of this other girl, more than anything else. Her mother recommends some therapy, weeks later, when she catches her younger daughter doodling pictures of marriage, and photoshopping an album of Patel-Harrington children.

The doctor tells her, _just remember, Meena, there's a fine line between cute and creepy - and you're pushing it._

At home, her father screams at her new stepmother - domestic squabbles are typical in fifty percent of households across the United States of America, her health teacher had said - and Meena places in one of those cheap quality black headphones from the mail into her ears, and blasts loud, pounding music, anything to take her mind off the yelling, but it's not that easy. He comes for her, soon enough - her father throws her upon the floor, screaming about how worthless she is compared to her sister; he slaps her, saying that _you're never going to amount to nothing, you're worthless, nobody loves you _and she sits calmly, knowing that protesting would only make things worse.

The tears spill down her cheeks once she's excused herself to the bathroom - ink-stained teardrops fall onto her yellow periodic table, and she wipes away the tears frantically, placing adequate makeup all over her face, which only makes the sting slightly less. The coppery taste of blood fills her mouth, and she pulls down the long-sleeved white shirt over her arms, ignoring the bruises that have formed over time; at school, if people notice, they spread rumors about how she had involved herself in fights with upperclassmen and being a head of a drug cartel. The more ridiculous, the more believable.

She tells herself that she needs to leave home - that it's not safe here, anymore - but then Meena remembers Derrick, and she remembers how whenever he smiles at her with those sunshine beams of his, she feels like an angel, and stays. _Just two more years, _she tells herself, _two years, and everything will be over. _(Except, none of this will really be over, now will it?)

_._

On the other side of town, Massie Block wakes up at the usual six o'clock alarm in the morning, screaming for Inez to bring her a cup of tea, which has replaced itself with some sort of herbal liquid from her mother in Japan. The windows are drawn open, and Massie brushes the dust out of the corner of her eyes, frowning at the new day; she draws the silk curtains open, and sees the message on the window - _HE'S MINE. _It's engraved in a liquid eerily similar to blood, and she screams at the top of her lungs, running down the staircase.

_I'm telling you Derrick, _she murmurs, softly, their fingers entwined across the small coffee table, _she's seriously obsessed with you._

He shakes his head, _I don't really care, Block - it doesn't matter if she's obsessed with me, because you're the only one that I'm in love with. You don't have to feel threatened, _he continues, with a smile. (Meena watches the scene through binoculars, and frowns.)

She's sitting on Derrick's bed, when he comes home from his date -

_Meena - what the hell are you doing here? _He mutters, grabbing a can of pepper spray from his dresser, a small detail that Meena had forgotten to pick up on. _How did you even get - _He stops, all of a sudden, grabbing his cellphone, and backs away from her, outside of the door. She sits upon the bed, waiting patiently for what feels like all of eternity - but she'll wait for all eternity to be with him - before wandering outside, into the hallways. _Derrick, where did you go - oh. _

There are three men, in white coats with sterilization needles; Derrick's speaking to them frantically, calling her a stalker and a creep, and the needle slips into her arms; she yells for him, but he never hears her.

.

_Where did you go, Derrick? _She thinks to herself.

She's sitting in an empty white room now, playing with her chipped fingernails, and wondering if they should be longer, painted with bright red polish - the color of blood, she thinks to herself, sticky and with the slightest bit of regret, an odor that can permeate the thickest of walls, but it's all very pretty when it dries - and examines how ugly her life is becoming. It's not her fault, not really - maybe, it's Derrick's fault, but she can't blame him, she won't blame him - _Derrick, _Meena ponders to herself, _even though you put me in the Sanitarium, I still love you. I will always love you._

She stares at the empty white wall, and wonders what it would like with blood dripping down the edges - the walls start closing in, and suddenly she feels like she can't breathe, and lets out an earpiercing scream. When she was younger, Meena's father used to put his arms around her, telling her, _hush, hush, everything's going to be okay, _but then again, she's not exactly daddy's little girl anymore - daddy's little girl doesn't go _crazy _over boys, and daddy's little girl doesn't hurt anybody.

It wasn't her fault, though - it's just a natural reflex that Meena's been able to pick up over the years - to protect Derrick, to do what's best for him.

She's always done what's best for everybody else - it's not her fault, not really. She gets the occasional visits from her parents, who peer through the glass windows and the iron bars, but they never walk inside, never directly speak with her; Meena stares at her savage reflection in the mirror, and notices how her hair is limper than usually, bushy near the roots, and her eyes have large circles beneath them, nights of restless nightmares, restrained by the occasional sedative or two (or three, or four, or five), and thinks that she can't see herself anymore.

It's okay, though. It'll be worth it, in the long run. She'll be out of here in what, five or six months, and then Meena can finally be with Derrick - forever and always, she thinks - and nobody will get in her way.

.

She kills him, at the end of everything.

Meena had been released from the facility a few hours prior, and lies down beneath Derrick's bed - it's a cleaner atmosphere now, more sterile in a way, with all the soccer posters on the while in a systematic fashion. There's a bottle of pepper spray on his cabinet, on top of a pile of clean clothes - she smells them, and they smell like Chanel No. 19, and she knows that he's been with somebody else. He won't be with _the other girl _for much longer now - it's only a matter of time before he comes back home (there'll be that familiar sound of a key in the doorway, then a click and he'll dismantle the security system - _0 - 5 - 2 - 5 - _and will grab a banana from the kitchen, set down his phone on the table, and he'll be upstairs soon enough).

It'll be perfect - a wide grin spreads across her face as she walks across her room, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath her, and taking air freshener to take out the stench of the Chanel perfume from that other girl; no other girl belongs her, no other girl besides her. There's the faintest smell of the perfume remaining, but it's almost gone now - just like Massie will soon be.

There's a screech at the pavement, and she closes her eyes, blinking slowly before turning her head towards the mirror, practicing what she's going to say; _Hey, Derrick - just got released; do you want to grab a bite to eat? _seems a little too forward - Meena's never been a forward type of girl; _Hey, Derrick - thank god you're here _feels too much like she's a stalker, which she definitely isn't (she just has a severe . . . interest in the affairs of his life, and more importantly, the relationship that they share, or that they will share) and there's nothing that just fits better than _You belong with me, Derrick.__  
_

There's that familiar tune on the radio - one of those silly Taylor Swift songs with a happy ending, _always a happy ending_ - and a car pulls into the driveway; flurries of snow fall outside of the window, and Meena smiles to herself, smearing off bright red lipstick onto a napkin; she sits down on the bed, crossing her legs slightly - she's seen girls do this at school, and in the movies (it makes them look more attractive, apparently).

Sure enough, there's a key turning in the doorway, and the gentle creaks of the stairways - there's added weight, Meena thinks to herself, somebody else coming up with Derrick, and she brushes the thought out of her mind. It's too late to back out now; the spotlight will be on her in less than ten seconds, if she's calculated it correctly - which, she most definitely has - and she shouldn't be scared in the first place. She knows that Derrick and her are soulmates, and her mother (_television_) always told her that if two people are meant to be together, they'll always find their way back to one another.

There's the sound of the doorknob opening, and Meena stares at the mirror one more time, thinking that maybe it would be better if she hid underneath of the pillows, or maybe underneath the bed, but it's too late now. She looks up at Derrick, and her eyes narrow at the figure behind him - a girl around their age, with almond shaped amber eyes and brunette curls, a smile frozen on her face; _Derrick, if I'd known that you were having . . . company, I wouldn't have come over. Leesh was right about you. _She storms out of the room, her heels _click-clack _on the hardwood floor, and there's the whish of cold air from the open door, and then the stench of Chanel had left, and she has Derrick all to herself.

_You don't look happy, _she murmurs, _I thought that you would be happy now that I'm back. We can finally be together, _Meena continues with what she hopes will come off as a sweet smile. She stands up, walking toward him - Derrick seems frozen, unsure of what to do - and rests her fragile hand on his shoulder, which tenses as a natural reflex, she assumes._  
_

He steps away, slowly, almost as if he's afraid - Meena feels hurt, because she thinks that he should know that she would never, never in her wildest dreams, do anything to hurt him; all that she's ever done is to protect Derrick. _Get away from me, Meena, _his words are cold and harsh, and cut her to the core. _I don't want you - I like Massie, I love her, and I'm always going to love her. I've never loved you, and I never will._

There's a silver knife within her grasp, and she grabs it from underneath the cotton sheets, and in a quick motion, Derrick lies limply on the floor, blood pooling out of his stomach, his brown eyes open. It's not until the police come, and then her parents - her mommy and daddy who look at her as though their younger daughter's a monster, and her older sister who looks at her like she's a disgrace to the family name, for seven generations and beyond - that Meena realizes what she's done. She's killed the only boy that she'll ever love, and for what? Maybe, it's okay, though.

If she can't have him, nobody else can.

.

um i don't know what this is byee /hides self


End file.
